


As You Wish

by Skalidra



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Kink Meme, Language Kink, M/M, Mirror Universe, Nicknames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9261860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Cisco Ramon is one of the most dangerous people on Earth-2; well known among the powered, if not the civilians, as Reverb. Hartley Rathaway is one of the very few people on that world smarter than him, and not afraid of showing it, though that last bit might have something to do with the fact that they're dating.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the DCTV Kink Meme! Original prompt was:  
> 'Reverb might be one of the multiverse's most brilliant master criminals, but he has a soft spot for his favorite inventor. Hartley likes the danger that comes with being Francisco's boyfriend-- he might not have any metahuman powers, but that just means Reverb's underlings never see his punches coming.
> 
> And, oh yeah, the sex is GREAT.'
> 
> There's a little less, 'Hartley is physical' than that implies, but I do quite enjoy how he (and they) turned out. Hope you like it! (These bastards can't be together without doing language-things, so, for reference, 'tesoro' is Spanish for treasure, and 'inclitus' is Latin for 'famous as used as an endearment'.)

Francisco feels the reverberations in the universe's fabric long before he actually hears his boyfriend coming up the stairs to the more… recreational area of the rooms set aside for Zoom's lieutenants. He smirks the moment he notices the disturbance, and Black Siren takes one look at him and scoffs, mouth curling in a falsely-delicate sneer as she takes her shot at the pool table. Caitlin, the opponent in her game — they refuse to play him; fair, he does cheat after all — watches the shot happen and then glances over at Francisco.

"Did you know you get a certain _look_ on your face when your pet's coming by?" Killer Frost comments, with a twisting smirk of her own and a little flicker of her hand that shows off a twist of misty fog. She likes to show off.

"You have looks of your own, dear Snow," he counters. Then, when she rolls her eyes, he adds, "Your dear partner will always be more _flaming_ than mine, after all."

She gives him a side-glance for that, eyes a little bit narrowed. But before she can try to find something cutting to say Black Siren straightens up, one hand wrapped around her pole as she braces it on the ground and leans against it. "Take your shot, sweetie. Reverb can play with his nerd all he wants." A sidelong look, her sneer turning into something more curled, more vicious. "At least until Zoom notices him. Think he'll like your playmate as much as you do?"

"Don't threaten what you can't back up," he reminds Black Siren, not bothering to straighten up from where he's leaning on the counter, watching them. "You wouldn't want me to take that pretty voice of yours, would you?" Black Siren holds his gaze for a second, then shies away, gaze skittering back to the table. "I didn't think so."

He looks up, feeling it as Hartley hits the top of the stairs, and the door opens. Francisco gave him security clearance to pass the door a long time ago; Zoom must know, but he hasn't heard a word against it. Hartley slips through the gap, arms full of some sort of very tech-looking machine, the edges still rough looking, but he knows that will fade away with time. Hartley never ceases work on a project until it becomes as close to perfect as possible. (No one else knows, yet, that he uses Hartley for more than just his genius; the metahuman alert apps can be irritating, after all, and Hartley can walk right past without ever setting them off.)

He holds position, waiting for Hartley to round the room and come up to him, setting the machine aside on the counter before sliding hands in beneath his jacket and leaning into him. "I have had the most utterly _compelling_ idea," Hartley says as greeting, before kissing him. Short, to begin with, before Francisco loops a hand around the back of his genius boy's skull and tugs him into a deeper kiss.

It's only when Francisco is done that he pulls away, letting his fingers trace down the back of Hartley's neck. "Out," he commands the other two lieutenants in the room, as Hartley leans into him, the frame of his glasses rubbing against Francisco's jaw.

Black Siren discards the pool stick with a contemptuous clatter, shoots him a look just shy of actually deserving punishment, and then whirls and stalks towards the exit.

Killer Frost sets her own down with a little more precision, offers a smirk and, "Have fun, boys. Clean up after yourselves, hm?"

Francisco waits until the door has closed behind them, before turning his head to brush lips across Hartley's temple. "What's in your head this time, my _tesoro_?"

His kiss is repaid with a hum against the skin of his throat, before Hartley pulls back enough to look him in the eye. "I can tell you later, can't I? Your little ice cube had such specific ideas about what we'd be doing; be a shame to disappoint, hm?"

"I do love your wicked little mind," he purrs, sliding his hand around to tilt Hartley's jaw up that last half inch between them. "But I suppose the genius can wait for a bit." Hartley's head tilts back down towards his hand, and he knows this game more than well enough to let his hand be moved against until Hartley can draw a finger into his mouth and _bite_ , sharp enough to sting. "Easy…” he murmurs. "You really do know me too well, my _tesoro_. Perhaps the only thing that could distract me from your mind _would_ be your lovely mouth; whatever it happens to be doing."

Hartley lets go of his finger, but only to smirk and nip at the tip of it instead. "I suppose it would be my second best feature according to you, _inclitus_. Or maybe you like it better than my mind, hm?"

He cups the side of Hartley's throat, pressing a thumb beneath his chin. "Don't ever think that." Hartley, for a moment, almost looks fond of him, softened by the reassurance. Hartley would never let himself be even slightly so vulnerable, were any of the other lieutenants still here. His boy knows better than that. "What have you decided to call me this week, Hartley?"

"Well," comes the low murmur, sounding all too pleased. "It's Latin; _inclitus_ , that is. I suppose you'll have to look it up, won't you?"

"You just love confusing me, don't you?"

Hartley's smirk is confident, assured. "Oh, not just you. And you're hardly ever actually _confused_ , _inclitus_ ; just a little ignorant. We can fix that."

Francisco lets his other arm rise, circling Hartley's waist and tugging him in. "Careful, my _tesoro._ You're the only person that gets away with speaking to me like that; don't abuse it."

"Oh, I'd _never_ ," Hartley mocks, and allows himself to be pulled closer, till their lips are almost brushing. "Now, are you going to fuck me, or should I tell you about my idea first? I know how you love to hear me talk about all those fine technical details."

He hums in consideration, before he pushes Hartley back just enough that he can turn them both, pressing Hartley back against the counter instead. "Paint it for me in broader strokes," he orders, as he pushes the jacket from Hartley's shoulders, leaving it at his elbows so he can turn his attention to unbuttoning the black dress shirt beneath. "You can tell me all the technicalities over dinner, hm?"

Hartley's hands close on the edge of the counter, as his chest is revealed inch by inch. "I was thinking about your powers. Vibrations, powerful things."

"You would know," he teases, as he summons just enough of his ability to let his fingers buzz as they stroke down the center of Hartley's chest. Hartley's eyes flicker in response, mouth parting for a brief moment as he pushes forward into the touch.

"I would," Hartley agrees. "I've had a more… personal experience with them than most can boast, I'd say. So, I was thinking how one might produce those same effects artificially."

That he pauses for, briefly.

Hartley notices, of course, and immediately responds with, "Oh, I have no interest in recreating your specific powers. The ability to see the future is a little far out of our technology's range at the moment, I'm afraid. I doubt that even your more basic powers could be recreated with anywhere near the same precision; there's no substitute for the human mind — or metahuman, as the case may be. I couldn't create something to simply affect vibrations as you do anyway; a true cause would be needed, in absence of metahuman abilities."

"What were you thinking of then?" he asks, keeping the buzz in his fingertips as he runs them across Hartley's chest, pushing the dress shirt off his shoulders as well.

"I—” Hartley gasps as Francisco rubs his thumbs over the slightly hardened peaks of his nipples, easing them back into softness even as they're tormented by the low buzz of the vibration, sending sparks down the length of his spine. "Sound."

Francisco watches, enjoying the slowly gathering flush on Hartley's cheeks, beneath the frame of his glasses. "Sound, my _tesoro?_ To cause vibrations?" He strokes a hand down, flicking open Hartley's slacks and sliding a hand beneath the band of his underwear to palm the half-hard length of his genius' cock. He extends the vibration to his entire hand, and Hartley presses forward into it and gives a soft, gasping cry that instantly makes him want another. "Wouldn't you rather have an ability yourself? We could expose you to more of the dark matter; it wouldn't be too hard."

"You know I don't want that, Francisco," Hartley says, slightly breathless but still firm. "The powers are too random; I would prefer to have some control over what abilities I receive."

"Then why not research it?" Francisco pushes his hand lower, using one knee to part Hartley's legs as he slides his fingers back to massage against the sensitive, soft skin of Hartley's perineum.

That gets him a shiver, Hartley's back bowing a touch despite his familiarity with the sensation. "What makes you think I'm not already?" is his answer, paired with a wicked curl of lips. "In the meantime, I want to create a weapon to allow me to use sound to create vibration; not unlike what Black Siren's device does but much more refined, naturally. Her blunt approach is of little interest to me." One of Hartley's hands come off the counter, lifting to cup Francisco's cheek and then slide back into his hair, curling the strands between his fingers. "Nor do I have any interest in _screaming_ to destroy something; my voice has better uses, hm?"

"Much better."

"You'd like me at your side, wouldn't you?" Hartley is a bit more obviously breathless now, as Francisco rubs his barely-vibrating fingers along sensitive skin. "Beside you in every way that matters?"

He considers that idea, leaning in to mouth at the side of Hartley's throat, to suck a bruise into his pale skin. "I would like all of them to see you are as dangerous as I know you are capable of," he agrees, "but I do not wish to see you in danger."

Hartley scoffs, fingers tugging lightly at his hair. "I am in danger every moment I breathe, Francisco. I am _yours_ , remember? The rest of these goons have certainly not forgotten, and I would prefer to appear a threat in my own right, rather than a conduit to access you by. They fear you, as they _should_ , but you are not constantly with me, _inclitus_. You can't see every possible version of the future all the time. Let me take precautions."

Francisco lets his fingers pause, and the vibrations fade away as he breathes in the scent of his genius boy, his _treasure_. He would shatter every bone, one by one, of any person who tried to harm him (and that in itself is dangerous devotion, he knows). "Very well," he concedes. "But keep it quiet for now, my _tesoro_. I would rather they be surprised by you than know what you are capable of. When you have working prototypes, we can discuss other possibilities."

He doesn't voice his other concern, that Zoom (terrible name, really) may decide that once Hartley has working weapons, he can be sent on missions like any other subordinate. He does not want to put Hartley in the line of fire, no matter how dangerous he becomes. He will shield Hartley from all of them, if that's what it takes.

(When Francisco had seen Killer Frost and Deathstorm engage in a relationship, before Zoom had gathered them together, he'd promised himself he would never fall that deep. Never to the point of self-sacrifice, or the point of _love_. But the line has come and gone, and here he still is engaging in this clear, obvious weak point. There's no backing out now; he's ensnared too tightly in the coils of Hartley's sharp, sarcastic wit and the seemingly limitless scope of his genius. Even if he could force himself to break free, he doesn't want to. He doesn't think he'll ever want to.)

“Excellent choice,” Hartley praises. “Now, are you going to finish what you started, my Francisco?”

Francisco draws away just enough that he can take Hartley’s mouth in a kiss, slipping his tongue between white teeth to twist together with one of the very few tongues more clever than his own. They both know that Hartley is smarter than him, even though Francisco has the upper hand between them. He knows from his forays into the time stream that the possibility that Hartley will turn that genius on him is an incredibly rare chance. Enough to risk.

“I would never leave you hanging,” he promises when they come apart, murmuring it against Hartley’s lips. “What do you want, my _tesoro?_ ”

Hartley hums, amused and considering, and then demands, “Fuck me on the pool table. _You_ I’ll scream for, _inclitus_ , if you make it worth my while.”

His mouth curls, echoing the amusement, and then he eases his hand out of Hartley’s pants, to grip the side of his waist. “Do I ever disappoint?”

“ _Never_ ,” Hartley breathes, and then lets go of his hair and rolls both shoulders back, shedding the jacket and shirt that had been caught at his elbows. “Did you finally stash lube somewhere in here?”

“In a way.” Francisco reaches into his jacket, retrieving a small tube of it from the inside pocket. Hartley gives a short, low laugh.

“And you call _me_ wicked; dirty boy.”

“It seemed more convenient, at least temporarily, than stashing a bottle everywhere we do this." He tugs Hartley forward a step with his other hand, sliding it around bare, warm skin to press flat against the small of Hartley's back. "I'll work on getting actual bottles spread around, my _tesoro._ Just for you."

"Completely selfless, I'm sure," Hartley remarks, voice dry. "We haven't got all day, Francisco. Eventually one of your little powered pets is going to come back."

He doesn't actually have all that much physical strength, but he has enough to pull Hartley around and back him up, till he's pressed back against the edge of the pool table. "Then I'll chase them out," he promises, rubbing a hand up the center of Hartley's chest and pressing. Hartley braces both hands on the table to support the bend. "Up or down, Hartley?"

"Up," is the immediate answer. "You know I like to look at you, _inclitus_."

He slides his fingers down Hartley's sides, hooking his thumbs into the undone pants still clinging to those narrow hips. "As you wish."

Hartley rolls his eyes even as he pushes the pants down, kneeling for a moment so he can undo the dress-shoes Hartley insists on wearing most days. Holdovers of his time being a billionaire couple's son, Francisco is sure. "You've seen that movie too many times."

"No such thing," he denies, pulling each shoe off one at a time before removing the pants as well. "I know you love it too."

Hartley lets him reach up and peel the last layer of clothing — tight black briefs — down as well, scoffing, "I do not insist on quoting it at every opportunity, unlike you." He presses a kiss to one of Hartley's thighs, activating the buzz in his fingers as he strokes them up the outside of Hartley's legs. He looks up, gives a curling smile, and Hartley scoffs again and looks away. "I suppose I don't really mind. Most times."

He straightens up, letting his fingers skate over hips and then to the sensitive skin of Hartley's waist. "I know." He grips both sides of Hartley's waist a little more firmly, and Hartley hops up as he lifts, letting himself get set down on the top of the pool table's edge. Then he sweeps an arm back behind Hartley, scattering the balls still spread across the table to one side, so that when he orders, "Lie down for me," there's nothing behind Hartley that will be in the way.

Hartley flashes a smirk, but does slowly lie back, legs pressing to either side of Francisco's waist as he lifts both arms. One pulls the glasses from Hartley's face and then rises, setting them up at the opposite end of the table and safely out of the way. Without them, Hartley blinks several times, no doubt acclimating to the newly blurred landscape. Francisco watches, enjoying the slight vulnerability and following the movement as Hartley's arms slip behind his head, giving him access and control over all the rest of his body.

He takes full advantage of it to pull the lube back out, as he lowers his other hand to brush over the more fully-hard length of Hartley's cock. He keeps his touch light, teasing, as he uncaps the tube. Then he lifts it away so he can coat three fingers of his left hand, rubbing the lube between them to make sure they're slick. Before Hartley can get impatient he lowers those fingers, bypassing all the rest so he can circle a finger around what's probably Hartley's second-best orifice. Hartley's mouth just has too many other wonderful uses for him to rank it anything but the absolute best, as is evidenced when he pushes his finger in and it lets out a delightfully obscene moan.

Hartley doesn't appreciate teasing, most of the time (and most of the time that doesn't stop him), but he's right about the situation this time. They don't have enough time to take things any slower than necessary. Zoom's other lieutenants are under his command, and they're as scared of him as they should be, but that doesn't mean he wants to show his genius boy off to them. Hartley is his and his alone.

He leans in, pressing his lips to Hartley's chest. The skin there is soft and smooth, and he raises his gaze so he can look up as he summons vibrations to the fingers he's using to work Hartley open. The arch is instant, and Hartley's cheeks flush, fingers curling in his own short hair to tug at it.

"Ah, _Francisco_."

The gasp of his name goes straight to his pride, and he hums into Hartley's chest before picking a spot just below the soft outline of one pec to draw into his mouth. He can feel the faint tremble of muscle as Hartley pushes into him, probably resisting the urge to reach down tangle fingers in Francisco's hair instead of his own. When Hartley gives up control like this, he prefers to keep it that way, and that's most of the time. (Not all of it has to do with Francisco's magic fingers, but it's a contributing factor.)

Francisco slides a second finger in beside the first, trusting to Hartley's practice at this and being rewarded for his faith when Hartley easily yields, legs pressing in against his sides. Hartley arches harder, and he hears the scrabble of nails against the fabric surface of the pool table. He moves his mouth onto another spot, over on Hartley's side, and gets a sharp, breathless laugh for the attention to the ticklish spot.

"Your noises are wonderful, my _tesoro,_ " Francisco praises.

Hartley's words come on the heels of a quiet groan. "Someday I'll take advantage of your obsession with my mouth," is the promise. Francisco looks up when Hartley's hand finally does find his hair, fingers stroking across his scalp and threatening the tie of his ponytail. "That sound like fun, _inclitus?_ "

"Some other time," he half-agrees. "Somewhere a little more private."

"I'll keep that in mind." Hartley's fingers tug a tiny bit at his hair, urge him up towards the dusk of a nipple, and he happily goes.

He also crooks his fingers at the same time as he brings his mouth to where Hartley's pulled him, and gets a much louder cry in reaction. The expertise in playing Hartley's body comes easy to him, and he shuts his eyes so he can focus on all his other senses, including the faint strum of their actions in the fabric of the universe around him. Completely unnecessary, but he likes the feeling of it, he likes how the universe shivers when he plucks at it, he likes how sharper actions reverberate through it. He's described some of it to Hartley; as much as he can, anyway.

Francisco works his fingers, feeling Hartley harden where he's trapped between their stomachs, feeling how Hartley eases open for him, slowly. Until he can add a third finger, and Hartley is shivering against him, gasping his pleasure and rocking back into his touch, fingers never having left his hair. (He doesn't mind; he likes how Hartley's blunt nails feel against his scalp. Likes the loss of control inherent in how Hartley can't keep his hands off him.)

He's tempted to wait, and make Hartley ask for more, but practicality wins out. They can slow down and take their time later on, when they're back home at the apartment Francisco shares with him. Those kinds of things are better done behind closed doors; really closed doors, that is, not just ones that haven't been opened yet. Hartley likes showing off sometimes, but not usually in a sexual way. Hartley's original experience with coming out — and someday Francisco will _kill_ the parents that hurt his partner — left him private about his own life when it comes to anything more obvious than a bit of kissing.

He leaves a last, lingering kiss to the center of Hartley's chest, over the faint mark of his lips from earlier. Then he slides his fingers from the clutch of Hartley's body, ceasing the buzz of them as he straightens up.

Hartley's hand slides out of his hair, but the moment that he starts to shrug out of his jacket Hartley makes a breathless noise of protest. "No, keep it on, my Francisco. Keep it all on."

The smirk comes easy, and he pulls the leather of the jacket back onto his shoulders. "As you wish." He brushes his hands across the inside of Hartley's thighs on the way down, holding the lidded gaze of his partner before his fingers come to the fastening of his jeans. He can't quite help the faint hiss that escapes between his teeth, as his hands brush against the swell of his cock, before he can open the jeans and pull it on. It's simple from there to push his underwear down just enough to free it, so he can shift close to his partner again.

" _Yes_ ," Hartley says, as he lines himself up right, one hand steadying himself and the other coming to wrap around the curve of Hartley's hip. "Francisco. _Inclitus,_ come on."

"Little eager?" he teases, with a smile. Hartley's mouth opens, and Francisco pushes forward instead of letting him really answer, gaining a sharp cry instead of the no doubt scathing answer he otherwise would have received.

Hartley's legs dig into his sides, yielding to the press of him as he leans down and in, until they come together and Francisco is layered down over him, one hand bracing against the pool table over Hartley's shoulder, the other still gripping his hip. Heels press against his back as Hartley's legs curl more firmly around him, demanding that he stay close. His jacket protects him from the worst of it; Hartley's heels have left more bruises on his back than most of Zoom's other lieutenants have ever managed.

Hartley arches against the pool table, teeth digging into his bottom lip for a moment before parting again, his head tossing sideways. For a moment Francisco can only watch, his clothing beginning to feel stifling (he perseveres; Hartley wants it this way). When Hartley begins to speak, in one of the languages he _doesn't_ know, he can only give a short laugh and shake his head.

"It would kill you to be easy, wouldn't it?" he asks, as he begins to move, keeping the movement of his hips to short snaps as he tries to find just the right angle. Despite his powers, this is one area he still has to approach from a normal way.

One of Hartley's hands rises, curling fingers into the leather of his jacket to pull him down an inch. "You like me this way," Hartley points out, smug if breathless.

He can only answer, "You know I do."

He also can't deny that the curl of Hartley's voice around syllables he can't place is its own intoxication. He recognizes it as French, and if he could concentrate he could understand more than a suggestion of a word every ten or so, but Hartley is hot and welcoming, and he can't make himself think about more than that. In this situation, practice has never helped; Hartley is as perfectly overwhelming as he always has been.

Hartley's other hand lifts as well, circling the back of his neck and tangling in his hair to hold him down. French slips to _Japanese_ , and Francisco almost rolls his eyes as another burst of laughter escapes him.

"You're _insufferable_ ," he gasps, and Hartley's hand squeezes the back of his neck.

"Only for you, Francisco," is the answer, equally as much of a gasp, back arching an inch or so off the table. The gasp turns into a cry when he snaps in; _finally_ at just the right angle, just the right pressure. Hartley clings to him, legs pressing in harder, pulling him closer as much as is even remotely possible. He can barely move against it, but what he can move is enough to make Hartley even louder.

He bares his teeth for a moment, panting and wishing the angle was right for him to lean down and actually catch Hartley's mouth. Not that it would necessarily stop Hartley from talking, but that isn't the point anyway. He's almost never actually wanted to _stop_ Hartley from talking, but he almost constantly wants to kiss him, just to get a taste of that genius for himself. He doesn't know many people smarter than him, and even less that are clever and handsome on top of it. (And none of those are _his_ like Hartley is.)

Francisco can recognize how Hartley trembles, how he twists against the table, how his fingers dig in against the back of his neck and curl tight in his jacket. The biggest clue of Hartley's rush towards release is how his words start to break, how the words — still foreign — come farther apart, come sharper; tongue stilled by one of the only things that can manage it. He'd be lying if he said that how Hartley's words fall apart under his touch isn't one of the biggest factors for why he's that close too.

Hartley is moaning the words now, reverting to a dizzying mix of English and Spanish to speak _filth_ at him, and _god_ , he tries to give it back. His own dirty talk is stunted and slow in comparison (though just as much of a mix of the two languages), but judging by the way that Hartley's eyes _burn_ up at him the effort is more than just appreciated. He can feel the clench of muscle around him, see the way Hartley's eyelids flicker, mouth parting in a deep gasp.

" _Francisco,"_ Hartley pleads, pushing back into his thrusts. "Come on, _come on_."

He can't do anything but obey the urging, bracing his legs a little better to put more force behind his thrusts, pushing harder against the table with the hand he has braced there. He slides the hand on Hartley's hip inwards, wrapping it around the length of his cock instead and getting an instant shout, hips bucking up into his hand.

It's only a matter of moments before Hartley is jerking him down, arching and nearly shrieking towards the ceiling as he comes between them. The heels at Francisco's back will _definitely_ leave bruises, but the pleasure in his system overwhelms it, hips moving on instinct more than rational thought. The build of it in his gut is coiled tight, and then _snaps_ in a sudden rush. His back bows, slamming him into Hartley one last time where he grinds deep, unable to help crying out.

It comes out almost like Hartley's name.

Hartley's fingers are tight in his hair, a dull pressure pulling at the back of his neck that expands on the wash of pleasure sliding through him. He lowers his head, opening his mouth to pant as he enjoys the lingering feeling. The pressure against his back eases, and Hartley's legs uncurl from his waist to just be pressed lightly against his sides, breath coming slightly faster than his. The fingers curled in Francisco's jacket slide up, cupping the side of his neck with gentle pressure and holding him bent down.

Eventually he manages to calm down again, evening out his breathing and straightening up a bit; as far as Hartley's hands will let him anyway. He opens his eyes, looking down at Hartley and admiring the lingering flush to his cheeks. His eyes are still closed, mouth slightly open, expression relaxed in afterglow. It's still one of the most beautiful things Francisco's ever seen.

"My _tesoro,_ " he murmurs, a smile curving his lips without his permission, his voice soft. "You're beautiful, you know that?"

Hartley's eyes flicker open, a returning smile carving that all-too-clever mouth. "I know," comes the equally soft answer, "but you can remind me all you like. I like hearing that you adore me."

He gives a small laugh, stroking the fingers of his free hand up Hartley's waist, along his pale skin. "I never would have guessed," he teases. "You're so mysterious about what you want, after all. How am I ever supposed to know?"

"You can start by cleaning up the mess you caused," Hartley prompts, fingers loosening in his hair before both hands slide down to cup his jaw. "I think your ice cube was rather insistent about that happening, wasn't she? Hate to disappoint."

Francisco turns his head, burying his smile as he kisses the palm of one hand, and then the other. "And what will you give me for taking care of you, my genius?"

Hartley's smile softens just a touch. The hands on his jaw let go, lower to brace against the table and push Hartley up until their lips can meet in a soft, slow kiss. When it finally breaks, Hartley breathes, "As if there's anything left of me you don't already have, Francisco. Name it and it's yours."

He presses his palm to Hartley's back, holding him up as he steals a shorter but equally soft kiss. "As if I could want anything more than you."


End file.
